Only If You Come Back
by rucha.naik52
Summary: Oneshot, Gwaine x Reader, set in 03x04 Gwaine


The young woman swept her blonde hair back into a scruffy, high ponytail and scrubbed at the sticky, alcohol-stained table. The tavern was empty, save for a few older men who were far from gentle with her. She wondered what had happened to the tall, quite handsome and rather drunk man who had wandered in the night before. She rather wished he hadn't flirted with her quite so much, not that she minded but generally these men were lost, trying to forget the reason they were nomads. Though her heart had hoped, her mind was really quite sure that she wouldn't see him again. Pity, she thought, he was rather cute.

"I want everything clean before the melee ends, ya hear me?" Her gross, unhygienic boss stepped out from the back.

"Or, let me guess, another pay cut?" Her mouth had muttered before she could stop herself.

"Or," he added with a toothy grin, "I'll cut out that pretty tongue myself."

"Careful," She warned. "Wouldn't want to hurt yourself." Scoffing, he left to enjoy what was left of the melee. What was new there, she asked herself. Prince Arthur would win, of course, like he always did. She wondered how the people didn't tire of seeing him win with the same tactics against the same people. Whenever she went, she'd always focus on the new faces, committing their moves to memory. It was interesting, she supposed, to see people from different places with different manoeuvres. Some were, of course, downright stupid, she mused, imagining the cabbage head twirling his two swords, only to trip over his own feet. She'd been roused from her musings by the slamming of the oaken doors around her. She whirled around to see the same dark, tall stranger from two nights ago. She still vividly remembered his drunk charm and that goddamn smile but it was nowhere to be seen on this man. This man was pale, sweaty and his steel armour glistened red in the dim lighting of the candles. As the door swung behind him, the nearest candles flickered and with one look, the remaining stragglers clambered up to their rooms or stumbled out the door.

"Blood," she said. She feared the worst. Even with armour, a single stab in the right place could lead to massive hemorrhage, she remembered from her mother's pale face and her father's deep wound. He glanced down at himself.

"Blood? Oh. That's not mine." he said casually, as one would refer to clothes.

"Are you injured?"

"No, but I could use a drink, considering it's my last one here."

"Oh." She said. What more could she say? Hi, sorry, I don't even know your name but I love you? No, she didn't. She couldn't. She wanted to. But she couldn't. As she grabbed a mug from below and a jug of mead from behind, she wondered what her heart had expected. Strangers never lasted long. She'd seen Gwen's heartbroken face when Lancelot left. She refused to be one of those girls who latched onto a stranger and cried themselves to sleep when they inevitably left. Oh, how she wanted to steel herself, to put this handsome stranger behind her and focus on the disgusting, gross and distasteful old men. Yet, she couldn't help herself staring at him. She urged herself to move, to clean the other tables, but she couldn't stray from this stranger. He drained his mug before meeting her eyes. He raised one eyebrow and gave her a quirky smile. Quick, her brain told her, play dumb!

"You haven't told whose blood that is yet." She recovered gracefully.

"I…" He grinned sheepishly. "I sneaked into a melee."

"Aren't the weapons blunt in melees?" The stranger looked surprised. "My father was about to be a knight."

"What happened?"

"Some idiot challenged him and he agreed and then proceeded to get stabbed. After that, he became a farmer. Thought it was too dishonourable to have lost a duel to an idiot when he was drunk the night before his knighting ceremony. So yes, he's still alive and yes, he taught me everything he knew. So, blood?" She pointed towards his stained armour.

"These goons had sharp swords and magically disguised themselves into nobles as well as the swords to appear blunt and were trying to kill Arthur. I stepped in to save him."

"Ever the hero. You sound like you know the Prince personally."

"Saved him from the same goons before." She laughed.

"How'd he survive the bruise to his ego?"

"He tried to reward me before, but now I'm probably going to executed or exiled. So I'm here for one last drink."

"That's Camelot. You try and save it, it tries to kill you or kick you out. Just between you and me, the king is one ungrateful son of a-"

"Still the king." He interrupted, chuckling into the next drink you set in front of him. She looks down at her hands, wringing them together.

"I still don't know your name." She said abruptly. She moved from the table to sit next to him.

"Where are my manners? Gwaine. And yours?" She was about to say it, but he kept going. "Jacinta? You look like a Jacinta. No? Maybe a Kiara? Or-" At this point, Gwaine was spouting names of the top of his head and you shook your head, laughing. He stopped abruptly and gazed at her. She glanced back and their interlocked gaze pulled the two closer. She leaned in and hesitated, about to question herself, but shook the question out her mind and closed the distance. Gwaine's hand rose to clasp her neck and tangled in her hair. She locked her arms around his neck, not wanting to let go. He pushed deeper, holding her against the bar. Her hand rested on the table to steady herself, the other tousling his hair. She pulled away, breathless.

"I'll tell you," she said, "only if you come back."


End file.
